There.
Not the no-contact order.
Not the assault.
The money.
That is what frightens him.
After court, Hortensia approaches you in the hallway.
Rachel steps forward, but you lift a hand.
Let her speak.
Hortensia looks at you with hatred dressed as dignity.
“You think you saved her?” she says.
You look at her.
“No. She saved herself when she told the truth. I simply answered the phone.”
“She will go back to him.”
You smile faintly.
“That has always been your kind of hope, hasn’t it?”
Her eyes narrow.
“You know nothing about family.”
You step closer.
“I know enough to recognize a mother who raised her son to confuse control with love.”
Her face twitches.
For one second, the mask slips.
